


Where I Should Be

by tastewithouttalent



Series: The Moments We Touch [5]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Inline with canon, Romantic Friendship, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘This is not where I should be right now.’” Azusa’s perspective on the Kishin’s revival and defeat and the aftermath. Overlaps The Person I Might Become and The Rule of a God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return

Azusa arrives at the cafe before Marie does, as she knew she would. Azusa always arrives to events two minutes early while Marie is consistently between five and twenty minutes behind schedule. This time it’s seven. Azusa has taken the tea leaves out of her drink and it is nearly cool enough to sip by the time the other weapon comes in the door, looking windswept and panicked with her tardiness as she usually does.

Azusa takes a minute to watch the other woman from her mostly-covered position behind the counter. They’ve not been apart long, only a few months, but the other weapon’s features have still taken on the odd unfamiliarity of an old friend absent too long. Her nose is a little wider than Azusa recalls, her hair slightly less perfectly gold, her hips not quite a perfect hourglass.

Then Marie catches sight of Azusa, lifts a hand to wave, and smiles, and the expression breaks all over her face like the dawn and she is  _exactly_  as beautiful as Azusa remembers.

Azusa gestures towards the counter and Marie goes to order her drink before she joins the crossbow. Azusa has had years of practice at steadying her voice and controlling her gaze -- it is just a crush, after all, not the end of the world or anything -- but her pulse is fluttering with the unprecedented novelty of reunion and the moments to compose herself are much appreciated. By the time Marie comes over with a paper cup of coffee, Azusa can take in the smattering of freckles over her nose and the barely lopsided curve of her lips with entire equanimity.

“Hey there,” she says, and Marie sets her cup down on the table and comes around the other side to wrap Azusa in a one-armed hug.  _That_  does fluster her slightly -- Azusa’s not sure what to do with her arms, and Marie holds on longer than she expects -- but the hammer is smiling when she pulls away, and then she goes to sit on the other side of the table and Azusa catches her breath.

“It’s good to see you,” Marie says, blowing across the milk foam over her latte. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you quite so soon but it is a pleasant side effect of being called back.”

“Mm,” Azusa offers noncommittally. It  _is_  good to see Marie again, better than she wants to admit, but she was ready to move away and move on and settle down with someone  _not_  perpetually in love with the unattainable, and Marie’s golden hair and shy smile are reopening a wound that has barely had time to scab over.

“Not that the rest of it isn’t frustrating,” the hammer goes on. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to find someone to settle down with here in Death City. I lived here for over a decade with no luck and I’m not getting any younger!”

“You might have had more success if you weren’t so hung up on your meister,” Azusa points out reasonably. “I’m sure there are plenty of men our age who would be delighted with your attention.”

“But I have to go back to Oceania after this is over!” Marie wails. “I can’t start a relationship that I’ll just have to end in a few weeks!”

“You’re as rational as always.” Azusa tries her tea, manages a sip without scalding her tongue.

Marie looks up away from her coffee and up at the crossbow, and after a moment she laughs. “You’re making fun of me. Well, I was getting too serious out on my own anyway.”

“I’m sure you were.” Azusa manages a smile. “No luck with the husband search, then?”

“No.” Marie sighs, throws herself back in her chair, and spins her cup idly between her palms. “No time to find anyone, and no one who was all that promising anyway. I know there’s not a lot of selection here, but at least this way I can stay focused on the task at hand and get back to Oceania faster!”

Azusa doubts that very much but refrains from saying so. Marie sighs with the satisfaction of someone who has entirely solved a difficult problem and sips at her coffee. The foam catches on her lip and Azusa tracks the motion of her tongue as she absently licks it off.

“What about you?” Marie is all focused now, of course on the one subject not to Azusa’s liking. “Any prospectives in your new home?”

“Not anymore.” Azusa’s tea is really quite good and taking a sip gives her a chance to stall for time. “I was seeing someone for a few weeks, but that didn’t work out.”

Rose had been very hot, equally hot-tempered, and not at all pleased to find out Azusa was still nursing a schoolgirl crush on her best friend, even when Azusa tried to explain she barely spoke to Marie anymore. Azusa knew that particular relationship was never going to last very long, though, and the stress of avoiding mentioning Marie’s name in all of her Academy stories wasn’t worth the extra days or weeks of sex she would have gotten in return. As it turned out, getting called back had happened much more quickly than Azusa anticipated, and that would have been the death knell if not something sooner.

Besides, Marie’s ever-friendly companionship isn’t the same as a relationship, but at least single Azusa can quietly admire her best friend’s attractiveness without the least bit of guilt. There is that to be gained from the situation, if nothing else.

Marie’s face starts to drop into sympathy and Azusa cuts in before she has a chance to say anything. “Don’t apologize.”

“I wasn’t --” Marie starts.

“Yes, you were. It wasn’t your fault, it’s not a particularly sore spot for me, and you have nothing at all to be sorry for.”

“But--”

“No.” Azusa nudges the coffee cup towards her best friend. “Drink your coffee. I’m glad to be back to help deal with the current crisis, although those here  _should_  have been able to handle it. Between all of us we’ll be able to handle the Kishin effectively.”

Marie heaves a sigh but does take a drink of her coffee, and if Azusa watches the way her lips curve around the edge of the cup the other weapon never sees it.


	2. Favor

Azusa doesn’t volunteer her story when Marie comes back. By the time the other weapon comes into the Death Room the crossbow is over what was mostly a bad fright and is alert enough to be relieved that Marie has successfully brought Stein back. She’s looking at the blond when Death Scythe startles with relief at Stein’s return, sees Marie not-quite flinch at Stein’s reaction. She would feel bad on the hammer’s part were it not entirely, infinitely better that she finally  _know_.

Azusa tries to give Marie space, but when the sky clears and the sunlight floods in through the hole in the roof she only holds back for a few minutes before her feet pull her toward the other woman like they are connected on a line. Marie is standing with Crona, a hand against the child’s narrow shoulders, but she is looking at Stein with an expression that screams of the years of pining if there were anyone looking but Azusa.

“It’s better that you know,” Azusa offers as she draws closer. Marie keeps watching the meister for a moment longer, then pulls her gaze away with visible effort and smiles at her friend. Her lips are trembling and her uncovered eye is liquid gold with unshed tears, but the smile is genuine for all that.

“I didn’t know,” she says unnecessarily. Crona glances at Azusa and slides away; Marie lets him go with a last lingering pat against his shoulders. Azusa is impressed with his reading of the situation; he’s already better than Marie herself has ever been. “I had no idea.”

“It wasn’t you,” Azusa offers. The blue sky is catching off Marie’s hair and the liquid in her eye and she is  _sparkling_ , it is really absurd but very beautiful.

Marie glances at her. “Did you know?”

“No,” Azusa starts, then pauses to clarify. “Not at first. I thought he was just a sociopath until I saw them together when we were called back to the Academy.”

“You saw it  _then_?”

Azusa does  _not_  give Marie a pitying look. She  _does_  congratulate herself on her restraint in not doing so, though. “Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t. Would it have helped?”

“Yes,” Marie starts, then glances back at Stein and sighs. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.  It might have.”

“When did you put it together?” Azusa asks. It comes out cold in spite of her best attempts at sympathy, but Marie laughs and shrugs like it was the most delicately phrased inquiry.

“I was in his head, back with Medusa.” She is looking at Stein’s back, standing close by Death Scythe, and Azusa is watching her watch him. “He had this radio, a hallucination of course, but it was playing Spirit’s voice on repeat, all these things I’ve never heard Spirit say but it was definitely his voice, and the fact that Stein was listening to  _Spirit’s_  voice as the sound of his sanity…” She sighs and that’s when she looks back. “It just...explained a lot that never made sense to me. Like the answer to a riddle, you know?”

Azusa does know. She nods without speaking and Marie continues.

“It just all fit together and it seemed very beautiful for a minute, Stein loving Spirit and me loving him and  _fixing_  him so they could be together again, even though it was the end of hope for me.” She laughs. “But I didn’t have any to begin with. I guess that was kind of the point.” She glances back at the two men, where Spirit is struggling into his black jacket and Stein is looking at the weapon like he is fragile and precious and perfect. Azusa has to look away. Watching Stein is too much like looking in a mirror.

She clears her throat. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Marie smiles and looks back down at her hands in front of her. “I don’t know what he would have done if he had. Apologizing wouldn’t really be his style.”

“No.” Azusa would look away if she could but she can’t make herself do it.

Marie looks at her and Azusa can see the moment her eyes focus on the other weapon, the moment the meister leaves her thoughts.

“You’re hurt.” She reaches out to touch the rumpled collar of the crossbow’s shirt. It’s not romantic, just the casual closeness of a friend. It’s still hard for Azusa to keep from jerking backwards like Marie is threatening her with an open flame. “What happened?”

Azusa doesn’t meet Marie’s gaze, looks at the curl of golden hair across her head instead, the way it catches under the strap of her eyepatch. “Kishin Asura attempted to kill Kid and I.” She tips her head in the direction of Death Scythe. “Lord Death and Death Scythe intercepted the hit, but it did some damage regardless. I got knocked out briefly.”

“Are you okay?” Marie looks up into her face. Her hold is still on Azusa’s shirt, her face is  _very_  close.

“Yes.” Azusa looks up and away, away from Marie’s hair, and carefully reaches up to pull the hammer’s hand free. “I’m fine.”

Marie reclaims her hand and takes a half-step back and Azusa can look at her again. The blond sighs and there is the weight of years of futile dreams in the sound.

“I have a huge favor to ask of you.” She swallows. “I’m still living at Stein’s lab right now. I’ll start looking for my own apartment right away but...I don’t really want to get in his way, you know?”

“And you don’t want to be around if Death Scythe comes over.”

Marie laughs and there is some real humor in the sound. “Yeah. That too. But I don’t have anywhere else to  _go_  right now and --”

“Stay on my couch.” Azusa is speaking before she has really thought it through, but she can’t take back the words after she’s said them. The offer is entirely valid, if the desire underneath is not, and the way Marie’s face lights up is worth the self-imposed silence.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Azusa shouldn’t agree so fast. Marie deserves to know how  _she_  feels first; there’s a certain guilty sense of taking advantage of her friend in the agreement if she  _doesn’t_  know. But that’s been present their whole relationship,and Azusa doesn’t  _want_  to tell her, and Marie needs her  _help_.

She recognizes it as justification but recognition is as far it goes. And really that’s been the premise of their whole friendship, and Azusa can’t find it in her to regret that.


	3. Pity

It only takes Marie an hour or two to condense her various belongings at Azusa’s into a couple cardboard boxes in preparation of moving into her own apartment. Azusa watches her rather than helping because she doesn’t want to let on that she knows exactly where everything Marie has brought into her apartment is, primarily because if she doesn’t remind her the hammer is certain to leave something in her wake and Azusa can hold onto it for slightly longer than is strictly necessary before mentioning that Marie left it.

Marie is unusually quiet as she works, though it’s not from anything Azusa has done. For one, the crossbow has been very careful to do nothing out of the ordinary, but for another Marie’s gaze keeps going out of focus as she thinks on whatever is distracting her rather than lingering on her friend.

Azusa has a good guess as to what the problem is. It’s the same problem that has been between them since before they met. By rights she should be glad Marie knows now, that things can start to change, but Marie’s unrequited crush on her meister has made  _Azusa’s_  own crush perfectly stable and safe and nonthreatening, and the possible shift of that is unsettling the careful balance of the crossbow’s world, and Azusa  _hates_  to be unsettled.

When Marie finishes taping up the last box, she doesn’t get up from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, just rests her hand against the box and stares into space like she’s been doing. Azusa gets up without entirely meaning to and covers most of the distance to her, although she doesn’t sit and doesn’t take her hands out of her pockets.

“It’ll get better,” she offers. “It’s not like you were dating. That should help.”

Marie glances up and her and away, and although she smiles it’s not exclusively cheerful. “It should. It’s just...I’ve been waiting for him all this time, I guess. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing, and it sounds really stupid when I say it out loud, but I don’t quite know what to do with myself without this.”

“You could keep pining.”

Azusa means it to be funny and Marie does laugh, bright and sunny. “Not all that appealing, actually, thanks Azusa.” She shakes her hair back and squares her shoulders. “I guess I’ll just...recenter.”

Azusa offers a hand. Marie takes the support and lets herself be pulled to her feet. Even standing she has to look up at Azusa, but she’s looking at the crossbow now instead of whatever nostalgic woe she  _was_  seeing,and that’s a major improvement.

“Okay.” She smiles. “Well, at least I’ll be here in Death City with you for a while.”

“Until I’m reassigned,” Azusa clarifies, and Marie waves a hand. “Until you’re reassigned. I’m trying to look on the bright side here, okay?”

Azusa is smiling without meaning to, the way Marie always makes her smile, and then the hammer reaches out with her free hand to rest her fingers against Azusa’s shoulder. It is at this point that Azusa realizes she hasn’t let go of Marie’s hand, that the blond’s fingers are burning through her clothes like a brand, and her smile vanishes under the panic that swamps her body.

Marie’s expression drops into confusion. “Are you okay?”

She is  _not_ , not okay in  _any_  sense. “Yes.” Azusa can hear the shake in her voice even on the one word.

So does Marie. Gold eyebrows draw into a curve of confusion and her head tips. “You sound --”

Azusa’s hand is in Marie’s hair before she thinks it to turn the hammer’s head up, her own head tips in the opposite direction, and she does what she has wanted to do for years and kisses Marie.

Marie doesn’t move, doesn’t respond or protest or pull away. It’s not a long kiss, just a brush of lips against each other, long enough for Azusa’s mouth to warm with the other woman’s blood and long enough to utterly, eternally destroy her carefully-built pretense of their platonic friendship.

Azusa lets Marie go and pulls back. Her hands drop to her sides, she blinks once, and then she angles her chin up to send the glare of the light off her glasses so Marie can’t see her eyes.

“Oh.” Marie looks away, down at the front of Azusa’s shirt without seeing her, touches her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “Oh.” She looks up at the crossbow’s face so Azusa can see her eye although her own are hidden.

After a beat it becomes clear Marie won’t say anything else, and after another breath Azusa has stabilized her own voice into calm.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” It doesn’t sound like a confession at all. It sounds like the fact it is. She opens her mouth to apologize but can’t get the words out. They are less true.

Marie’s uncovered eye is going wide and filling with pity. Azusa wants to flinch away but she stands still, lets Marie work up to what she needs to say. It will be  _better_  this way.

“I’m so sorry,” the hammer says around the cover of her fingers. She shakes her head. “I had no idea, I’m so sorry. I didn’t -- you’ve only ever been a friend, Azusa, I had  _no_  idea.”

“I know you didn’t,”Azusa says. “I know. It’s fine.” She swallows, forms her mouth around something that is a plea instead of a fact. It’s hard to say it. “Please don’t pity me.”

Marie nods like she’s listening, but her face is still lined with guilt and hurt and Azusa can’t look at her. The crossbow backs up a step, swallows, says, “Please,” and then turns and doesn’t run away, slowly walks to her room and shuts the door and waits until she hears the sound of Marie leaving.

It still feels like running.


	4. Whiskey

Azusa is doing her best to drown her sorrows in paperwork when there is a knock on her front door. She hasn’t seen Marie in over a day, since the other weapon let herself out of Azusa’s apartment, and that isn’t surprising in itself -- they’ve gone days and weeks without talking before -- but with the remembered heat of the hammer’s mouth lingering on Azusa’s lips the silence is foreboding and weighty and something to avoid thinking about. Her attempts are only proving partially successful.

There is  _no_  way the knock is Marie at her door, but Azusa still finds herself hoping desperately, walking slower than she needs to to drag out the possibility, and when she does open the door she is disappointed that it’s not even more than she is surprised at who it  _is_.

“Stein.” The word is entirely absent any emotional content. “What are you doing here?”

Stein blinks at her and holds up a bottle in his hand. “Comforting.”

Azusa looks at the bottle, looks at Stein’s face, looks back at the bottle. “Okay, setting aside the most obvious question of why you think I  _need_  comforting and my sincere hope that you have purely  _platonic_  intentions, why do you think I would  _want_  to  _see_  you? I don’t  _like_  you.”

Stein doesn’t withdraw the offered bottle. “I know. I don’t particularly like you either but I think you’d probably appreciate Spirit’s company even less. And I  _do_  have some personal experience with this situation.”

That rings true, from what Azusa has put together between half-formed conversations with Death Scythe and what she has picked up from Stein’s expression when he is talking with the other man. Even so, she almost doesn’t step aside, but the whiskey looks  _much_  more appealing than her paperwork, and Stein seems oddly and entirely sincere, and so she moves.

Stein hands her the bottle and steps past her so she can shut the door. Azusa holds it up, takes in the label as she follows his lead down the hallway. “Where did you  _get_  this? I didn’t think you were much for, well, alcohol.”

“I’m not. Spirit is.” Stein says, like that explains everything. “It’s his.”

“Great. It’s your fault if he asks,” Azusa groans, but the idea of drinking Death Scythe’s whiskey without his permission is amusing in a petty way, and Stein sits down at her table like he’s planning on staying for a while. She leaves the bottle on the table and goes to get a pair of glasses.

Stein is rifling through the papers when she comes back and reaches out for a glass without looking up. “This doesn’t really help.”

“So I’m discovering.” Azusa sits down in the opposite chair and reaches to open the bottle. “Years of experience?”

“Yeah.” Stein shoves the papers aside with complete disregard for their order or safety and holds out his glass until Azusa pours an inch of liquid into it. “Productive years, but not particularly good for getting over it.”

Azusa doesn’t know what to make of this utterly unprecedented information from  _Stein_  of all people, so she downs her own shot at one go in lieu of answering. She shivers involuntarily at the afterburn. Stein imitates her swallow but not her reaction.

“So.” He reaches for the bottle and refills both their cups. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” Azusa is very clear on that. “I don’t think you’d be a good therapist even if I did.”

“Likely not.” Stein smiles lopsided into his glass and Azusa can tell when his eyes go unfocused and soft like he’s seeing Death Scythe in the reflection of the liquid. “Though I’m quite skilled at tuning out chatter, if you’d like to ramble.”

“Not my style. Thanks.” Azusa takes a sip this time instead of a full swallow, lets the flavor flash into heat on her tongue and the back of her mouth. The presence of someone else  _is_  a strange comfort, even if it’s the last person she expected to be drinking whiskey with at her kitchen table. “This is pretty good. Don’t tell Death Scythe I said that.”

Stein laughs without looking at her. Azusa is certain she’s never seen him laugh so sincerely, certainly not as easily, and the expression goes all the way to his eyes, or maybe starts there and spills out to his mouth. He is happy, truly happy, and she can’t even find it in her to be envious.

“What did Spirit ever do to you that got him such a grudge?”

“Who said he did anything to me personally?” Azusa frowns into her cup and takes another sip. “I like him about as much as I like you.”

Stein waves a hand like he’s dismissing her argument. “I  _deserve_  it.”

“So does he.” Azusa leans back and stabs a finger in Stein’s direction. “Just because you’re blinded by love doesn’t mean he doesn’t have faults. The man spent his first decade as a Death Weapon doing his best to sleep with every woman in the City. He’s the only  _real_  Death Scythe at this point, and he spends half his time wailing about his daughter’s resentment for him and another third of what’s left falling to pieces under any sort of pressure.”

“Do you  _know_  he was actually sleeping around while he was married to Kami?” Stein asks.

Azusa opens her mouth to respond and then shuts it, reviews her memory.

“Okay,” she admits. “I don’t have  _personal_  evidence. But he’s so  _immature_  and he’s supposed to be a  _Death Scythe_.  _Justin_  is more professional than he is and he’s seventeen years old.”

“You all have your own flaws,” Stein points out. “Justin’s are different than Spirit’s, not absent. Nor are yours or Marie’s.”

Azusa raises an eyebrow at the meister. “When did you become so perceptive? I thought you didn’t care about people beyond locating your next experiment.”

“You don’t have a monopoly on observation,” is all Stein says as he leans in to refill both their empty glasses.

Azusa makes a face at the addition of more liquid. “I’ll be properly drunk if I finish that.”

“That is the point, I understand.” Stein lifts his glass. “It’s supposed to be an excellent short-term coping strategy.” When Azusa still hesitates, he smirks and says “To Marie.”

Azusa groans, shuts her eyes, and mumbles “Marie,” in agreement as she raises her glass to clink against Stein’s.


	5. Hangover

Azusa is still hungover by the afternoon of the next day. By the time two o’clock arrives she is able to open the curtains and handle the brightness of daylight, but her head is still aching and the idea of food is utterly nauseating. She gets a glass of water and lies flat on the floor with her eyes shut, letting the warmth of the sun filter into her skin as her body slowly rehydrates itself.

 _See if I ever drink with Stein again_. He probably isn’t even sick today. Of course he probably didn’t fall asleep either.  _I should have known, really_. What she remembers of the night before isn’t that bad -- Stein didn’t tend towards the chatty drinking that Death Scythe does, at least, so for at least the first few drinks it was almost entirely silent between them. Everything is somewhat hazy after that -- Death Scythe came in at one point, then left again -- and by the time she woke up from her curl on the couch Stein was gone and the front door was unlocked.

When there is a knock at the door, her first thought is that it is Death Scythe, or maybe Stein himself, back to make sure she isn’t actually dead from the night before. She drags herself to her feet and meanders down the hallway, slowly so as not to make her stomach feel worse, and when she opens the door she is expecting red hair or silver or both together. She gets gold.

“Oh.” Her stomach flips over and Azusa isn’t sure if it’s from the hangover or the surprise or the panic.  _Then_  she realizes that she looks like she’s been lying on the floor all day and very nearly shuts the door in Marie’s face. Instead she manages to stay still, keep her face calm, and just tighten her fingers painfully on the edge of the door where Marie can’t see. “Good…” she aborts the sentence halfway, corrects for the angle of the sun. “Afternoon.”

Marie smiles and Azusa’s stomach turns over again. Her smile is like sunshine, bright and shining and warm, and it invariably sends a tingle of heat all across Azusa’s skin. Just at the moment that is less than entirely pleasant, but it happens anyway. Azusa thinks it might have been Marie’s smile that drew her in first, before the gold in her eye and the curl to her hair and even before her impressive curves. Azusa’s eyes skip down, up in time with her thoughts, but her glasses hide the movement of her gaze and she has become very good at keeping a straight face while her mind slides down into fantasy.

“I was worried about you,” Marie says. “I heard Stein came over and got you drunk yesterday and that seemed like a terrible idea, at least for your end of it.”

“Yes.” Azusa adjusts her glasses needlessly, a nervous habit she can’t break. “It  _was_  a terrible idea.”

“Did you want to get some coffee? I hear that helps hangovers, sometimes.”

It would be a great idea if walking sounded easier and if Marie didn’t persist in her continued reversal of coffee and tea. “Thanks, but I think I should stay at home today. Moving is not particularly pleasant right now.”

“Oh.” Marie looks down at her hands. “Okay. I...I hope you feel better soon.” She brings her head back up, forces a smile, and Azusa’s dehydrated brain catches up to the conversation and the disappointment in Marie’s voice.

“Wait. Are you asking me out for just  _coffee_  or on a  _date_?”

Marie turns bright red, color pouring into her face until she looks like she has a very bad sunburn. “Um. B--both?”

“But--you said you weren’t interested.” That had been the cause of the ill-advised drinking the night before. It had taken two drinks before she could forget the shock and pity in Marie’s face, another three before she could shove away the other weapon’s guilty apology as she refused.

Marie’s color hasn’t faded and she’s not looking at Azusa’s face anymore but down at the toes of her own white boots. “I’m...not sure. I’ve never dated another woman before but I hadn’t thought about it either. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

Azusa should say no. She should say that if Marie’s not sure she won’t force her, that her best friend should stay her best friend and they can go on as they have and forget her own ill-advised admission. But there is hot adrenaline flowing into her and when she opens her mouth what she actually says is, “Yeah. Okay.”

Marie looks up. “Really?”

“Yes. But...not today. It’s not my best day by a long short.” Azusa tries to remember what her plans are for tomorrow, decides that she can rearrange them entirely if she has to, for this. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure!” Marie bubbles. “I have a class to teach until 11 but I’m free after that.”

“I can meet you at the classroom if you’d like,” Azusa offers, and Marie is smiling again, tossing her hair back from her face and looking up at the other weapon, and she looks nervous but that  _smile_  undoes all the hesitation the nerves bring.

“Great,” she says. “Well. I’ll...see you tomorrow I guess?”

“Yes,” Azusa confirms. “Definitely.”

Marie turns to go, and Azusa carefully shuts the door, locks it, and makes her way back to the living room before she lets the adrenaline drop her to the floor.

 _I really am going to be sick_. The panic now rising in her stomach is blending with her nausea in the worst way. It’s not going to be a pleasant evening.

Azusa can’t bring herself to care very much right now. 


	6. Lipstick

For the first time in her life, Azusa shows up actively early to an appointment. She knows it only takes ten minutes to get to the Academy from her apartment -- she’s walked the distance plenty of times, after all -- but she leaves at half-past ten, too anxious and nervous to hold still any more. She intends to walk around the city, get some fresh air first, but she feels self-conscious in a skirt instead of pants and less her black jacket, so she ends up outside the door to Marie’s classroom with more than a quarter hour to waste.

She ends up leaning against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest, and breathing through her panic. It feels like an infinity, but at least it passes without too much pain, and she spends the eternal wait relatively calm. Then the bell rings, the classroom door opens, and Azusa is back in the present with a painful jolt.

The students flow past her, the first edge turning into a steady flow and back into a trickle until Azusa is sure everyone is gone and there must just be Marie inside the room. She takes a breath, unfolds her arms, and goes to open the door.

There is a moment of shuddering, irrational panic -- maybe Marie’s out today, maybe Azusa has the wrong classroom, maybe Marie has forgotten -- and then the door is open, and Azusa is in the room, and Marie is turning so slowly it must be deliberate and she is wearing  _lipstick_ , an unnaturally pale pink color that somehow matches the yellow of her hair perfectly, and Azusa is frozen by the realization that  _she_  should have put on makeup.

Then Marie completes her movement, and smiles, and she is wearing some ridiculous fluffy bronze sweater and a skirt instead of her usual dress, and it  _is_  ridiculous and silly and it is highlighting her hair and clinging to her curves and Azusa very suddenly can’t remember how to breathe.

“Oh,” Marie says, as breathless as Azusa feels. “Hi. Azusa. You look nice.”

“Yeah,” Azusa manages by way of acceptance. “You too. You look nice.  _Very_  nice.”

Marie blushes as bright pink as her lipstick and tips her chin down. “Thank you. Uh.”

For a minute they stand there, Azusa in the doorway and Marie still by the desk, and then something clicks over in Azusa’s brain, declares  _this is absurd_  and claps its hands for action, and Azusa is coming forward with something of her usual stride.

“Shall we go to our regular cafe?” she asks, collecting Marie’s bag for her and stacking the loose papers on the desk one-handed before sliding them into the open pocket and handing the bag off to the other weapon. Marie accepts it without complaint, but she’s not meeting Azusa’s gaze, and unless the floor has become  _significantly_  more interesting since the last time Azusa checked it’s the effect of nerves.

Azusa clears her throat. “Marie.”

There is a pause. Then Marie brings her gaze up to look at the crossbow through her hair.

“It’s just me.” Azusa reaches out to brush the hammer’s hair behind her ear. “Really. Nothing’s changed unless you want it to.” Another pause in which Marie still doesn’t move. “Okay?”

Marie takes an audible breath and reaches up to push her hair back over her shoulder before she breathes out and lifts her chin to smile at Azusa. The expression is still shy and self-conscious, but she’s making eye contact again, and that is progress. “Okay.”

Usually Marie is the one to fill most of the silence, or at least to give Azusa something to comment on. Today she is unnaturally, uncharacteristically silent, until Azusa’s own words try to stick in her throat and close off her voice. Luckily Azusa has never been one to let nerves get the best of her, and she forces her way past the panic or at least through it, and when she talks her voice is level and calm with absolutely no trace of the way her heart is fluttering in her chest.

Marie doesn’t really speak until they are at the cafe itself, drinks in hand and seated at their usual table in the corner, and then she braces herself for it, takes such a deep breath Azusa almost laughs before she bites her lips and gets her nervous giggle under control.

“So.” Marie tosses her head back in a failed attempt to throw her hair back from her face, takes a sip from the edge of her cup with those coral-pink lips so she leaves a print of her mouth on the white edge. “Have you been pining for me all this time?”

Azusa’s eyebrows go up, and when she laughs it is legitimately amused instead of raw with panic and nerves. She leans back in her chair and takes a drink of her own tea.

“Not  _pining_ , no. I have been perfectly reasonable about my feelings.”

Marie tips her head to the left without speaking, silently prompting for an answer rather than a dodge, and Azusa has to smile.

“Most of the time, yeah, but it’s been more of a long-term crush than anything else. I dated other people while I was in Asia; I didn’t really expect to see you again so soon. And I didn’t expect you to reciprocate anyway.”

“Well.” Marie looks away and down at her cup, reaches out to absently streak the pink on the edge into a smear instead of a pattern. “It seems like the thing to do, moving on, you know? And I -- I don’t know if I do. It might just be flattery.” She smiles without looking up. “I’ve never been the recipient of a crush before.”

“That you knew of. I’m sure you had admirers.”

“Well, you’ve been around longer than any of my other boyfriends.” Marie makes a face. “Although I guess you’re not a boyfriend. Or wouldn’t be. Girlfriend?”

Azusa groans. “You’re jumping ahead, Marie. We’re on  _one_  date. Right now I think we’re still just friends.”

“Hm.” Marie sets her chin on her hand, takes another sip of her coffee. “How many dates before I  _could_  call you my girlfriend?”

“Marie.” Azusa reaches out to grip the other weapon’s shoulder without thinking. “You should probably make sure you’re  _interested_  first.”

Marie heaves a sigh, rolls her eye, and leans over the table to catch her pink lips on Azusa’s.

Azusa goes still, too startled to think of a reaction. Marie stays still for a moment before her hand comes up to brush against the crossbow’s hair, the contact delicate as the hammer has never been in Azusa’s memory. Azusa parts her lips without thinking, physical reaction entirely on autopilot, and Marie does too, barely exhales so Azusa can taste the hammer’s coffee rushing over the more delicate flavor of her own tea.

Then Marie pulls back, her lipstick catching their lips together for a moment before the connection breaks, and her hand is back on her side of the table. She tucks her lips against each other like she’s trying to fix her lipstick or hold back something, but she is  _blushing_ , going pink and flushed and that is a  _smile_  at the edge of her mouth. Azusa can’t speak, can’t think straight. She brings her free hand to her lips without thinking, presses the imprint of Marie’s mouth into them, and her hand comes away pink too, like Marie is spreading out to stain every part of her.

Her hand is still at Marie’s shoulder. She releases her grip, lays her hand flat on the table, and goes on staring at Marie like she’s never seen the blonde before.

Marie giggles and lets her lips fall into her usual smile, reaches out to touch her fingertips to Azusa’s mouth with that same oddly light touch, and Azusa smiles under the pressure without meaning to.


	7. Explore

It is Marie who pushes the subject, a couple weeks after their first proper date, several days into regular makeout sessions, and true to form the hammer decides to bring the subject up right in the middle of one of the better of the latter. Azusa isn’t thinking about  _anything_  when the blonde speaks, just relishing the pull of the other weapon’s back under her hands and the softness of her breasts against Azusa’s chest, and then Marie pulls back and says, as calmly as if she  _hadn’t_  just had her tongue in Azusa’s mouth, “So what’s the next step from here?”

Azusa’s glasses are  _not_  fogged up by any means, but their corrective power is somewhat undermined by her own difficulty in focusing her gaze. She has to blink three times before she can see straight, and then it’s another moment before she can pull her thoughts together sufficiently to manage a “Huh?”

Marie smiles up at her. From this close range her smile is a weapon, the crinkle at the corner of her visible eye devastating in its appeal. “Well, we’ve been making out pretty thoroughly and you haven’t pushed for anything beyond kissing, and that’s great but, I mean, aren’t you  _interested_  in more?”

“Uh.” Azusa lets go with one hand to adjust her glasses to grant herself a moment to recover her composure. “Of  _course_. I just. I don’t want to pressure you.”

Marie reaches up to press her fingers against Azusa’s cheek. The crossbow fights the urge to lean into the contact. She succeeds. Barely. “That’s sweet. But I really don’t know what I’m doing. I mean I’m gonna need some direction here.”

“Oh.” Azusa has legitimately not considered this aspect. She has been so concerned with  _not_  exceeding Marie’s comfort zone that she’s been satisfying herself with exciting fantasies and letting the other woman lead without really considering the facet  _experience_  might play in this. “It’s -- probably not a good idea for me to just push you up against the wall and have at it.”

“ _Uh_.” Marie blushes crimson, so hot that Azusa can feel the warmth radiating off her skin. “N-no. No, probably not the best course of action. But. Uh. I don’t. I don’t really know what to  _do_ , Azusa.”

Azusa has to smile at that. “I can’t really expect you to, can I?” She has to look away to think clearly, but she keeps her hand against Marie’s waist while she focuses her gaze off in the distance. It’s a distraction, but a welcome one.

“Okay,” she says finally. Marie is staring at the crossbow’s shoulder, idly playing with a long strand of hair that drops down to frame her face. Azusa reaches up to catch the tugging hand, wraps her fingers around Marie’s shorter ones. “Come with me.”

She doesn’t lead her to the bedroom -- for all that that’s  _exactly_  the endgame, it seems oddly forward for the moment -- but the couch is empty and relatively wide, and when Azusa sits down it’s easy enough to pull Marie down next to her.

“So.” She kicks her shoes off, brings her feet up onto the furniture beside her. “Here’s the plan. I’ll lay down,” as she puts action to the words, “And you can do whatever you want. Anything you want to try or anything you want me to do, just say the word, okay?”

Marie look  _terrified_. “But...what if you don’t  _want_  to?”

Azusa laughs and reaches up to catch the edge of the frames of her glasses. “Trust me on this, Marie. I  _want_  to.” The frames come free easily, taking the clarity off her vaunted vision with them, and she sets them on the floor next to the couch. With her glasses off, Azusa sees like everyone else, maybe a little worse even than Marie right now. The world is kinder with a little blurring, sometimes.

Azusa leans back against the couch, rests her head on the arm so she is half-sitting and half-lying, not demanding either but leaving the possibility open for Marie to take her choice. Marie stares at her for a moment, golden eye wide with panic and intrigue both, clear enough to see even with just ordinary sight. Then she sighs, and smiles, and reaches up to the back of her head.

Azusa doesn’t realize what she’s doing, at first. Then Marie pulls the strap of her eyepatch free, leans over to drop it atop Azusa’s glasses so her hair falls in front of her face. Then she sits back up, takes a deep breath, and pulls the mass of gold back, turns to face the crossbow.

“If you’re not going to wear your glasses, it only seems fair,” she offers by means of an explanation. The scar running vertically over her usually-covered eye is faded with years of healing but still clear, and while Marie kept her eye it’s milky white and doesn’t track at all. Azusa reaches up to gently touch the ridge of the scar and the groove alongside Marie’s cheekbone where the strap of the patch usually sits, like the dips just at the bridge of her own nose from the pressure of her glasses.

Marie fidgets under the touch, looks away. “I know it’s not the most flattering injury.”

“No,” Azusa says. Lying has never been her forte. “I’m sure you’d be particularly beautiful with two good eyes. But it’s not bad. And we all have scars.” She trails the fingers against Marie’s face up into the golden hair, takes the weight of the heavy curls for a moment. “At least you don’t have a screw in your head, right?”

Marie laughs, as Azusa hoped she would, and leans down to catch Azusa’s mouth with hers. At the angle they are at her body presses up against the crossbow’s, giving in all the right place and curved where she  _should_  be, and Azusa brings her free hand up to rest, not hold, at Marie’s waist and shuts her eyes into the kiss.

Marie kisses like she fights, careful at first, almost afraid of her own strength, so her lips skim soft over Azusa’s and pattern out a rhythm, touch and away, kiss and pull back, until some crucial point is reached and she forgets, as Marie always forgets, and  _then_  her fingers will come into Azusa’s hair and she presses hard against Azusa’s body with her own and her mouth is  _everywhere_ , on Azusa’s and then against her cheekbone, over her collar, down the curve of her ear, and all Azusa can do is give in to it. She’s never had it in her to fight Marie, after all, especially not now, when she has the other woman on her lap and unconsciously grinding friction against the seam of her jeans.

She can’t quite help the shift of her hips to rock up into that, even though it distracts the blonde. Marie comes up breathless and wide-eyed, her hands stall where they are at present -- one against Azusa’s waist, one still in her hair -- and looks as panicked as a woman can look with her mouth still flushed from kissing.

“Oh no, am I hurting you?” she worries aloud, loosening her hold on Azusa’s dark hair. “I’ve not ever been very good at this.”

“I don’t know who told you you weren’t good at this,” Azusa says, carefully precise even though she has to speak carefully around her too-fast breathing. “But I would like to know so I can chastise him for being a  _liar_.”

The panic on Marie’s face dissolves into flushed pleasure, and Azusa brings one hand up to brush against the soft curve of the hammer’s chin.

“Oh.” The hand on Azusa’s waist slides up fractionally. “Oh. That’s good.”

“Yes,” Azusa says. “It is.”

Marie comes back down so her weight presses Azusa warm against the couch, and that  _hand_  comes up another inch, the nervous care so reminiscent of schoolgirl fumbling that Azusa actually laughs against the other woman’s mouth.

“I meant it,” she says when Marie’s lips are against her neck rather than her mouth and the words can go straight to the blonde’s ear. “I  _want_  to. Anything.”

There is a pause -- Azusa can feel Marie go entirely still over her -- and then  _finally_  her fingers come up the last inches, brush tentative over the curve of Azusa’s breast, and even through the double layer of cloth the contact is crystal-clear.

“Is this --” Marie starts, and Azusa cuts her off, doesn’t need the ‘okay’ at the end of the sentence to catch the meaning.

“ _Yes_.”

Azusa didn’t mean for that one word to come out so weighted with want -- it sounds like her voice has dropped straight from professional-Death-Weapon into seductive-femme-fatale -- but Marie laughs, and the sound is so sincerely pleased that the crossbow doesn’t try to recover what composure may still be left to her.

She  _does_  come up, careful not to pull Marie down on top of her per their agreement, but Marie leans in too so their mouths meet in the middle as the blonde’s hand comes sideways and up, leaving a path of burning sensation in its wake. Azusa gasps in a breath and Marie starts to pull away before the crossbow catches her hand, manages, “It’s good, you’re fine, don’t stop,” and the contact comes back, still hesitant to start but steadier as Marie explores. Azusa lets her, the sensation careful and questing but satisfying all the same, far far better than imagination and her own hands, and then Marie pulls back and says, “Can I take your shirt off?” For a minute Azusa can’t think straight, can’t understand what the blonde is asking, and then she nods and reaches for the buttons.

And Marie grabs her hands. “No,” she says, “Let me.” Azusa tips her chin down, a reflex to call up the shine of reflection she doesn’t have, instinctive hiding of the flare of heat in her eyes and face. Marie laughs, sincere and frightened and  _excited_ , and her hands are shaking when she reaches for Azusa’s buttons but so are Azusa’s, she has to tuck them safe behind her back before the trembling eases.

Marie giggles again, half-apologetic, when she slips on the third button for the second time, and starts to say, “I’m sorry, it’s different this way around.” Azusa shakes her head in silent negation of the apology, but she has to swallow before she can manage to say the words, “Don’t be,” and her voice is starting to quaver too and Marie hasn’t even  _done_  anything yet. Then her shirt is open and Marie is staring at her like she hasn’t ever seen breasts before, and Azusa is flushing impossibly, unavoidably red under that one golden eye.

Marie reaches for the clasp at the front of Azusa’s bra, and when Azusa is able to raise her eyes to the blonde’s face she’s at least as pink as the crossbow feels. It’s a faint comfort, that at least Marie is as nervous as she is. Marie swallows, grins, and says, “Easy access?”

“Well,” Azusa hedges. “A girl can hope. And my hope is so rarely unfounded.”

That smile again, warm and soft like Azusa’s own never are. “That is true.” Then the clasp comes open, and Marie’s fingers are brushing paths of fire across Azusa’s skin, and the crossbow actually has to bring an arm up over her face because she retains exactly enough self-awareness to feel utterly self-conscious about the entirely irrepressible whine of pleasure she makes.

“Does it feel that good?” Marie asks, and that makes Azusa laugh when she would have sworn a moment ago she was going to die of crippling self-conscious critique.

“Yeah, it does,” and instead of offering the scathing criticism on Marie’s past lovers that they didn’t  _show_  her that, Azusa reaches up to catch at the bottom edge of Marie’s long dress. “Want me to show you?”

This is  _not_  the total passivity she promised, but she can’t help the offer, can’t lie  _still_  with Marie  _right there_ , and Marie smiles for all that she looks nervous and nods, and when Azusa pulls up she reaches down to help tugs the dress up over her head. There is a tangle of hair and the collar catches on her nose and then she’s free, gold flying loose over her face. She’s giggling out of nerves and actual amusement, and Azusa reaches up to smooth the mass of curls back, and looks at Marie’s face, and looks at the perfect dip of waist into hip, and looks at the dark of black fabric on Marie’s winter-pale skin. She doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t dive back into the perpetual distraction of skin and sensation, just  _looks_  with all the skill available to her glass-free eyes, and tries to memorize every curve and every faded scar.

“Azusa,” Marie says, and the crossbow looks back up to her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, and she means it, but the word catches oddly in her throat, weighs itself down with too much emotion, and she is eternally grateful when Marie leans down to catch her lips in the sparking excitement of a kiss.

When Azusa thinks of her hands again, she reaches back to the clasp at Marie’s back, and hesitates for a moment, but Marie is literally lying on top of her, weight and softness pouring warmth into the crossbow’s skin direct, so she undoes the clasp. Marie sits up, just long enough to pull her bra free and toss it after her dress, and then Azusa’s hands are against her freed breasts and they are exactly as soft as she expected, hot as if Marie’s on fire, and the contact makes the hammer inhale in startled delight.

“ _Oh_ , that feels  _amazing_ ,” and Azusa wants to laugh and wants to speak but does neither, just slides her hands so her palms drag over Marie’s hardening nipples. The blonde gasps and arches her back so she presses forward into the touch, and unconsciously grinds her hips down into Azusa’s in a way that manages to be simultaneously  _wonderful_  in the friction it gives and  _agonizing_  in that that it doesn’t. Azusa’s whimper is as unconscious as Marie’s motion, and then Marie’s mouth is against hers and for a few minutes any sort of restraint is gone. There’s just a frenzy of hands on skin and pulling at clothes, legs coming up and around hips and panting breath and friction  _everywhere_  but where it  _needs_  to be.

Azusa is sure they could go at this for hours, and the idea is rather tempting, but Marie’s breathing is starting to go from aroused to desperate, and when the crossbow hooks her fingers at the edge of Marie’s panties, just at her hip, the blonde sucks in air and says “ _Yes_ ,” and lets Azusa go for a moment so she can help pull the last of her clothing off and cast it aside. Azusa’s still half-wearing her shirt and pants, but Marie is nothing but gold hair and gold skin and gold eye, and when Azusa slides her fingers down to thread through the golden curls between the hammer’s legs, the sound she makes is golden too, warm and silky like honey. Marie is slick with want, Azusa’s fingers slippery as soon as she touches her, and when the crossbow slides a finger inside Marie sighs and shuts her eyes and rocks back into the contact, and for a minute Azusa can’t catch her breath and can’t blink into even momentary blindness. A second finger gains another sound and a breathy, gasping inhale, and if Marie is  _this_  wet already there’s no point in waiting, so Azusa shifts her fingers and slides her thumb up until she hits her goal, brushes friction over hyper-sensitive nerve endings. Marie reaches out to brace herself against the back of the couch and  _groans_ , all self-consciousness entirely lost. Azusa laughs, the sound barely making it past the delighted tension in her throat, and her own skin feels like it’s on fire and Marie has stopped  _touching_  her but that’s okay, for now it’s okay because she is sliding her fingers as deep as she can go, shifting her thumb with all the perfect precision she is known for, and Marie is falling into rhythm with her almost as fast as she can think, like they are Resonating even without a meister to guide them. Blood is rising to Marie’s cheekbones, underlining her still-shut eyes with pink, and Azusa can see it high across the blonde’s breasts and collarbones too. She reaches out with her free hand to trail her fingertips over that golden curve, and the flush follows her touch, painting darker color over pale skin.

Marie’s other hand closes on Azusa’s shoulder, the blonde leans forward so her hair skims against the other woman’s stomach, and she doesn’t  _speak_  but this close Azusa can hear the pant under her breath, the ever-increasing rate of her inhales, and she presses harder with her thumb, curls her fingers to grant more friction to the movement of her hand, and when Marie goes still Azusa doesn’t, and after a moment of breathless tension Marie gasps and sighs and comes against Azusa’s fingers.

Azusa waits to withdraw her fingers until Marie takes a deep, slow breath and opens her eyes to look down at her.

“Are you okay?” the crossbow asks, sliding her hand free and settling her hands at Marie’s waist.

The blonde nods and smiles and blushes red proper all over her face. “Yes. That was -- is it like that all the time?”

“There’s a  _lot_  of other things I can do to and with you,” Azusa says calmly, although Marie’s face goes even darker at the words. “Did you like it?”

Marie nods again, ducks her head to hide behind her hair for a moment, and Azusa has to smile.

There’s a pause, and then Marie’s head comes up. Her blush is gone, embarrassment swamped by concern. “Wait, what about you?”

Azusa shakes her head. “I can be patient. I’m doing my best to bring you around to the ways of lesbian sex, I can teach you the technique proper once you’re a convert.”

Marie giggles and blushes again, but she’s pink this time instead of red, and Azusa grins and pulls her down into a kiss.


	8. Reciprocation

Marie ends up staying the night after their interlude on the couch, and even though Azusa has to push her away after an hour so she can actually get comfortable enough to fall asleep she wakes up smiling into a tangle of gold hair. Marie has one arm thrown over Azusa’s shoulders, and with her eyes closed in sleep the only evidence of her childhood injury is the faint scar over her forehead and cheekbone. Her hair is truly a mess; the curls that are so stunning when they are smoothed into obedience have caught on themselves and the blankets and twisted into a knot that makes Azusa’s scalp hurt just thinking about combing it out. She has spent years distantly admiring the other woman’s hair, but just at the moment her own seems delightfully  _simple_.

Marie doesn’t move when Azusa slides out of bed and goes to the shower. The crossbow takes her time, running the water hot and long until the mirror is unusable from steam, and by the time she comes back into the bedroom with a towel around her and water dripping onto her shoulders Marie is sitting up in bed.

“You look exhausted,” Azusa observes. “You don’t have to get up if you don’t want to.”

“No, I should --” Marie starts, but cuts herself off with a yawn. When she stretches the blankets slide down to her waist and Azusa takes advantage of the motion to appreciate the golden curves thus exposed. “Get up,” she finishes. “I’m just not much of a morning person.”

“Somehow I am not surprised,” Azusa says, turning towards the closet to put on clothing somewhat more substantial than a towel.

“You know,” Marie’s voice comes from behind her, sounding odd and low. “You could stay in bed a little longer too.”

Azusa pauses and looks back. Marie is leaning over the bed, and now the blankets have slid down to expose her hip. Her good eye is dark and  _smoky_  and Azusa had  _no_  idea the other woman could sound so  _inviting_. The crossbow goes still with the closet open in front of her, and for a moment she just  _looks_  at Marie and Marie’s hair and Marie’s body and  _her_  bed, and the tangle of hair is starting to look a lot more attractively disheveled than hopelessly tangled.

“You said you’d  _teach_  me,” Marie goes on, and blinks in what Azusa is sure is  _intended_  to be alluring. It’s a little silly, too slow and too overdone, but in  _spite_  of that she can feel her resolve melting away under the heat of Marie’s gaze, and what does she have to do today anyway?

Azusa pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, tilts her chin up so they catch the light. “There’s no time like the present.”

All of Marie’s assumed invitation evaporates into delight. Her slow smile brightens into sunshiney excitement and she rolls back onto one side of the bed to make room for Azusa’s approach. Azusa climbs up onto the mattress, reaches out to carefully fit her fingers into the mess of gold curls, and when she leans down to press a kiss against the soft dimple of Marie’s lower lip the blonde opens her mouth and slides her tongue against Azusa’s parted lips. Azusa loses her focus for a moment, all her attention pulled in by soft lips and soft skin and soft hair, and then the weight of her towel slides away and Marie’s fingers are pressing heat into her waist. The hammer  _giggles_ , for all the world like she’s seventeen instead of nearly thirty, and Azusa opens her mouth to say something adult and coherent and Marie’s hand comes up to tease at her nipple and all that comes out is a gasp between surprise and pleasure.

“Shouldn’t you be lying down?” Marie asks, and when she pushes very gently Azusa does, abruptly, toppling more than gracefully lowering herself, and then Marie is straddling her, moving faster than she should given the hour of the morning. Her hands are against Azusa’s shower-damp skin, sliding over her breast and along her collarbone and down her waist to her hip and over her thigh, and Azusa can’t come up with a thing to say.

“Do you want to talk me through this?” Marie asks, and Azusa blinks and swallows and when she speaks her voice is faint and shaky.

“I have every faith in your ability to find your own way.” Marie laughs, amused and teasing, and Azusa has to smile too, because if there’s anyone who  _can’t_  find their way it’s Marie. “That was a poor choice of words. But you know what feels good for yourself; the angles are all backwards, and that’s a little weird, but it’s really similar. Much less intimidating than trying to figure out men, I’m sure.”

“You would think that,” Marie says, voice part amusement and part fright, and when she moves her hand over Azusa’s thigh her touch is tentative. Azusa thinks about reassuring her and decides that the distraction of her voice might be more of a detriment than an aid. She shuts her eyes, relaxes onto the bed, and appreciates the feather-soft brush of someone else’s hands against her skin.

The contact is so gentle that when Marie’s fingers dip down between Azusa’s legs the crossbow doesn’t realize for a moment where the blonde is going. Then there’s a touch against the inside of her thigh, higher than she expects. Azusa nearly jumps before she goes limp again, keeps her eyes shut and does her best to keep her mouth shut too.

Marie’s fingers are leaving trails of heat, now, for all her touch is so delicate Azusa almost can’t feel it. Every catch of skin on skin seems to trigger all Azusa’s nerve endings, flooding her stomach with a pool of heat and sending more attention through her blood until she can’t tell where Marie’s fingers are compared to where they have been. Her skin is a maze of excitement and tantalizing anticipation; it would be painful if it went on longer, but just as tension is drawing Azusa’s breath a little short Marie’s fingers cross over from teasingly close to right where she wants them.

The crossbow sighs, satisfied by the contact even though Marie hasn’t even  _done_  anything yet, and when Marie speaks she sounds surprised. “You’re --”

The hammer doesn’t finish, cuts her words off, and when Azusa opens her eyes and looks up Marie is blushing that ridiculous shade of pink all over her skin.

The crossbow laughs. “You’re doing great. I knew I could count on you.”

“You’re… _so_  wet,” Marie says, then hears her own words and flushes dark crimson. Azusa would reassure her, or maybe gently tease her, but the hammer’s fingers are sliding just inside her and the distraction of that overwhelms even her desire to offer support.

“Yeah,” she says instead, voice going into the high range of pleasure. “That would -- make sense.”

Marie laughs, slides her fingers deeper, and Azusa  _knows_  the hammer is being careful and gentle for this first time but no power on earth can keep her hips down on the mattress. She rocks up against the blonde’s hand, sighs in satisfaction at the contact, and Marie squeaks in surprise.

“Sorry,” Azusa says with only a trace of sincerity. “It’s just -- more of that, keep  _going_.”

There is a pause, then a laugh, and Marie pushes harder, thrusts her fingers as far as they will go. Just as Azusa hums encouragement the pressure curls, presses against her, and she chokes the sound into a moan instead.

“Like that?” Marie asks, and curls her fingers again, drags pleasure in the wake of her movements so Azusa can’t answer in words, just incoherent noises that say ‘yes’ and ‘more’ without any translation needed.

Marie’s free hand comes down on Azusa’s hip, holds her still so gently the crossbow is sure she could just move away except that she’s entirely fixed, like Marie is pinning her down without trying. When Azusa looks up Marie is watching her, smiling absently so the younger woman is sure she doesn’t know she is, eyebrows pulled together like Azusa is a puzzle she’s just starting to make sense of. Then the blonde looks down, at the movement of her fingers as she thrusts them harder into Azusa, and watching Marie watching her is a little more than the crossbow can take and she has to shut her eyes.

“You were using your thumb, too,” Marie says without making it a question, and before Azusa can try to direct her she slides her thumb sideways until she’s pressing hard against the crossbow’s clit. There’s a spike of sensation that spasms across Azusa’s body so she jerks and gasps, but then it’s gone as Marie shifts her hand.

“Ah,” Azusa says in a desperate bid for coherency as Marie hums in frustration. “Try both hands, it’s eas -- easier that way.”

“But I have to hold you still,” the hammer points out reasonably, and it’s true, she’s pushing harder than Azusa can manage alone and the hand on her hip is the only thing keeping the crossbow in place. “Wait, let me --”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she’s moving and Azusa can’t tell what she’s doing right away, only that the bracing grip is still against her skin and Marie’s fingers are still inside her but she’s stopped moving, and there’s a moment of panic at the possibility that she’s going to  _stop_.

Just as Azusa pushes herself up onto an elbow to get a better sense of what Marie is  _doing_ , the blonde finishes scooting back and starts to lean down, making her intentions clear just as Azusa starts to say, “What --”

“This is okay, right?” the hammer asks, looking up at the younger woman through that mass of hair, and then she leans down and slides her tongue across skin in place of her thumb and Azusa’s vaunted vision checks out for a minute.

When the first rush of pleasure passes and she can focus on secondary things like sight, Marie is looking up at her through her eyelashes and smiling the closest thing to a smirk Azusa has ever seen on the blonde’s face.

“Okay?” she asks, and Azusa laughs weakly and says, “Okay.”

Marie has no technique at all, which is exactly as Azusa expected, but the crossbow entirely failed to count on the combination of enthusiasm and  _incredibly_  strong fingers. Some very distant part of her, capable of commentary even in the midst of sex, observes that this is a really  _excellent_  side effect of the blonde’s weapon-based strength, but most of Azusa is busying not controlling her vocal chords so she can moan encouragement to the slide of Marie’s tongue and the steady movement of her hand. The wet slip of friction isn’t enough alone, but it’s a perfect counterpart to the jolt of sensation from the hammer’s fingers. There is tension rising in Azusa’s stomach, like it’s radiating out from Marie’s touch. Her hands are fisted in the sheets next to her and her mouth is open, she doesn’t know  _what_  she’s saying or screaming and doesn’t  _care_ , she just needs  _more_  and it’s not  _quite_  there. Marie moves her hand faster, and that’s almost it too, Azusa’s nerves are drawing tight under her skin, but it’s all just barely off, she can feel a sob of desperation coming up her throat and she starts to wail, “ _Marie_ ,” like the name itself carries any sort of useful information.

Then Marie’s tongue slips exactly right, her fingers hit home at precisely the correct point, and Azusa doesn’t have time to call back the name in her throat before it turns into a moan as the tension in her throat spasms into pleasure along with the tight-drawn anticipation in the rest of her.

She’s still trembling with the ripples of orgasm when Marie slides her fingers free and comes up to kiss her, smiling like she’s just invented sex herself.

“You looked pleased with yourself,” Azusa says, and if her voice is a little shaky it has good reason to be.

“I am,” Marie says, stretching out next to the crossbow and trailing her fingers over Azusa’s stomach. “I’ve never gotten a woman off before. It’s a big achievement in my quest to become a lesbian.”

Azusa laughs, bright-edged with sincere amusement. “I don’t think it works that way, Marie. The most you can manage is bisexual, I think.” She reaches out to brush her fingers through golden hair. “Congratulations anyway.”

“Thank you,” Marie says, pleasure audible in the words, and Azusa shuts her eyes and smiles.


End file.
